


Over Eager Ogres and Ridiculous Scarves

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rampant Silliness, Supernatural Shenanigans, quilts as plot devices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nemeton has called forth all manner of otherworldly creatures and, of course, they need the blood of a virgin to send them all home again.  </p><p>Spoiler: that summary contains more plot than this fic does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Eager Ogres and Ridiculous Scarves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexiel_neesan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiel_neesan/gifts).



> For alexiel_neesan, who is just amazing. :D I totally messed up her prompt, which was: Derek/Stiles, with Scott being sweet and awesome, and Lydia and Allison having Adventures! of their own. I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of a greater supernatural community outside of Beacon Hills, and with magic shops. Also cooking, sleeping/sharing a bed and quilts.
> 
> There are quilts, though! QUILTS. Ugh, I fail.

"Can't we just, I dunno, _turn it off_ ," Stiles half-yells over the noise of the gathered... creatures. 

Deaton's standing to the side talking to Isaac and Scott who, as Alpha, is in charge of this disaster. 

"Where are you going to send them?" Derek asks, his voice soft and encouraging in a way that is still a bit creepy for Stiles. Where'd the guy who smashed his face into his steering wheel go? Stiles hasn't been slammed into a wall in _months_ and he's starting to feel... nostalgic. 

Or blue balled. You know. Because seriously, like, that was kinda hot.

"Back where they came from sounds like an excellent option."

"Most of them aren't even from this universe, though, which is the issue we're trying to settle." Derek slides an arm around Stiles when a blue-skinned, three armed... thing (Stiles will check the bestiary, but he's pretty sure he'd remember a blue-skinned creature, okay?) starts licking its lips at him. With both of its mouths. Yeah, Stiles would remember something like that.

He relaxes against Derek's chest, which is still nice and muscle-y. Not as bulky as he'd been as an Alpha, but Stiles isn't complaining. Especially since the new, softer version of Derek apparently has no qualms about things like hugging. And since Stiles is a grade A champion hugger himself... Well, there's a lot of hugging going on around Beacon Hills these days, is all. 

"Where are the girls?" Stiles ducks, wide-eyed, when an over eager ogre—seriously, how is this his _life_ —tosses the mangled remains of a smallish pine tree that it had been using to pick its teeth toward them. It misses by a lot, but Stiles hasn't survived this long by not ducking, okay?

"The sprites were jealous of their beauty and we didn't want to have them end up needing to shave their heads." At Stiles' incredulous look, Derek just shrugs and says, "It's a thing. They put tree sap in pretty girls' hair and then knot it or something, I don't know. Lydia seemed horrified." 

"She would," Stiles mutters, eying the suspiciously vampire-looking creatures huddled in a group in the darkest part of the clearing. But of course they aren't vampires, because Derek has _assured them_ that vampires don't exist.

Lying liar.

"Well, just be glad you keep your hair buzzed. They were jealous of you too."

"What?!" Stiles squawks, flailing at Derek so hard he ends up smacking the back of his hand against Derek's stomach and— _hummina_ —sort of feeling up his abs. Trying to cover up his awkwardness, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "How could they be jealous of me with _you_ standing here."

When Derek just ducks his head, the tips of his ears turning red, Stiles can't hold back a gusty sigh. 

"Okay, so the whole Mythical Creature Council is going to start when?" Stiles asks, hoping to completely distract Derek from the last minute and a half of his life.

Derek's cheeks are still tinged with red when he lifts his head, but he seems otherwise on even keel when he shrugs. "Dusk, according to Deaton."

"And is _Deaton_ aware that some of us are fragile humans and it's fucking _cold_ out here?" Stiles grumbles, leaning closer to Derek in an attempt to steal some of his body heat.

"I, um." Derek ducks his head again, his shoulders coming up around his ears. "I brought a blanket. Thought you might need it," he says, the words almost getting lost in his chest. 

But Stiles hears them, and his heart does a weird ba- _thump_ in his chest. "You... you brought me a blanket?" 

"Well, I mean, it's more... it's a quilt."

Stiles is pretty sure he's making the most ridiculous heart eyes right now, but he can't exactly control himself. Derek brought a _quilt_ for him. It's so fucking adorable, he can't stand it.

"Hey guys," Scott says, bouncing over to them and then… sort of continuing to bounce while he blows on his fingers. Isaac is behind him, looking ridiculously warm—and ridiculously smug—in one of his ridiculous scarves. The fucker.

"Yo, Scotty. What's going on?"

"Well, Deaton has an idea, but it's going to require virgin blood, so…"

"Well, fuck. You know, one of these days, someone around here is actually going to _appreciate_ the Stiles, and then what are you going to do?"

Scott's eyes flicker toward Derek for a split second before settling back on Stiles. "Oh, I think we'll manage. I mean, you know. Not that we don't appreciate you! Because you know I do—"

"Scotty, buddy, don't sweat it. I'll pop a vein for you if it means getting these, uh, people? Back to their homes. I'm sure they're missing supper or something by now. Maybe 'Alternate Universe Idol' comes on tonight." Stiles is aware he's beginning to ramble, but if they haven't figured out he does that when he's nervous by _now_ , they never will.

Derek kind of bumps his shoulder, and Stiles looks over to see him grinning. 

Whoooosh goes his stomach, because _damn_ , that's a sight he's never getting used to. Derek grinning is probably the single most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen in real life. He kinda thinks they should put a platform up in the Louvre and have Derek just stand there and grin for people. He'd certainly pull more customers than that Mona Lisa chick. 

And if he takes off his shirt, well…

Scott snaps his fingers in front of Stiles' face, and he blinks around, aware that he's become entrapped in the glory of Derek's grin again. Dammit. Lethal weapon, that.

"So, uh, any chance we can speed things along since we have a plan?"

"Oh," Derek interjects. "Let me go get that blanket for you."

When he's far enough away for Stiles to be reasonably sure he won't hear them over the ambient noise of five dimensions worth of magical creatures, Stiles turns to Scott, grabs his shirt, and hisses, "He brought me a quilt."

"Oh, man, I _know_ ," Scott gushes. Seriously, he's almost squeeing. "You should have seen him at the loft! He was trying to figure out which blanket to bring. I mentioned your love of quilts."

"Scott, man, you are the _best_ , and seriously, if he doesn't throw me over a flat surface and fuck me senseless soon, I'm going to… I don't even know."

"Do I _have_ to hear this?" Isaac whines, and Stiles thumps him on the shoulder.

"Shut up. Go strangle yourself with your scarf."

"What's wrong with my scarf?" Isaac asks, turning wide, hurt eyes on Scott, who fucking melts.

"Nothing, Isaac! I love your scarf, dude. It's really soft. And uh, it matches your eyes. It's nice."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Stiles mutters under his breath, just as Derek jogs up with the quilt bundled up under his arm.

Gently, Derek shakes it out and lays it over Stiles' shoulders. "That better?"

Turning with a thankful smile, Stiles looks at him and says, "Yeah, dude. Thanks. It's really soft. And warm. And uh, it _matches your eyes_." He barks out a laugh as Scott pushes him a little too hard, sending him stumbling sideways.

"What?" Derek asks, and his face falls a little, as if he thinks they're making fun of him. "But the quilt is a lot of different colors. My eyes are just green."

Shaking his head, Stiles turns to Derek and says, "Dude, saying your eyes are green is like saying the ocean is blue. It's a complete understatement. You have like, full-spectrum eyes or something, they're fucking gorgeous. Green and blue with these goldish flecks and some dark brown along the edges and—"

"Boys," Deaton's smooth voice breaks in. "It would be best if Mr Stilinski could remain a virgin until after we've sent our guests to their respective homes."

"Huh?"

"What?"

Stiles and Derek turn as one to look at Deaton, their responses drowning each other out. 

"Stiles is cold." After saying that, Derek just looks at Deaton levelly, like he's waiting for Deaton to pull out a magical furnace, until Scott coughs, and draws their attention.

"Well, I hear werewolf body heat is good for warming humans up." He not-so-subtly nudges Stiles after making that suggestion, which Stiles would object to—he's going to have a Scott's elbow shaped bruise tomorrow—but Derek latches onto that idea like he's afraid Scott and Isaac will beat him to it.

It would be really fucking cute if at _any_ point in the six months since he'd started acting like this around Stiles he'd moved to do anything _more_. Stiles is going to die a damn virgin because as much as he _thinks_ Derek wants him like that, he can't be entirely _sure_ , and the last thing Stiles will ever do is push Derek for more than he's willing to give.

He's not Kate and he's not Jennifer/Julia/horror monster from hell.

But he _is_ Stiles, so when Derek moves closer to share body heat, Stiles lifts one corner of the quilt and wraps it around Derek, trapping them both under the warm material. Fuck. Yeah, having Derek rubbing all up on him is really fucking nice, okay? 

"Wow, you really, um, _are_ cold, huh?" Derek asks, his voice sounding choked.

"Yeah? I mean, it's better now, thanks, but yeah. The cold is something I feel?"

"It's just. Your, um. Your _chest_ is—"

Stiles lifts the blanket and looks down to see that his nipples are drawn tight from the cold, and one of them is pressing against Derek's arm. Stiles shrugs, because this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to him. "Yeah, sorry."

"It's not," Derek's cheeks are red again, and he's avoiding eye-contact. Gruffly, he continues, "It's okay."

"Yeah, they're kinda sensitive."

Derek makes a choked sound and then rearranges them so that Stiles is pressed backward against Derek's chest, sort of cuddled against all the awesome that is Derek, with Derek's arms wrapped around him. 

It doesn't exactly make him feel dainty—Stiles' shoulders have filled out quite nicely since he was a skinny, lanky 16-year-old nobody—but it does make him feel warm and protected. "Thanks," he murmurs.

Derek buries his face in the back of Stiles' neck and makes a rumbling sound of acknowledgement, his more-beard-than-scruff scratching delightfully against the sensitive skin there. 

Stiles is still holding the blanket, so when Derek's arms slide around him, he lifts one eyebrow, kinda puzzled. Derek likes to hug, but not usually around strangers, which every other being in the clearing—with the exception of Scott, Isaac, and Deaton—are.

But then his palms slide up Stiles' abdomen and come to rest over his nipples, one hand on each, and it's all Stiles can do not to grind his ass back against Derek's hips. Stiles glances around wildly, looking to see if anyone's noticed. "Derek," he moans, licking his lips and giving in to the urge to rock his hips because goddamn, does he need some friction. "We can't…"

"I know." Derek's voice is shaky, and his palms keep making these tiny, hitching circles over Stiles' nipples. His cock is twitching against Stiles' ass, and he seriously… yeah, he needs to feel that inside of him _now_. "Stiles." Blunt teeth bit into the back of his neck and Stiles is about half a second from coming in his pants.

"Derek, Derek, Derek, fuck," Stiles mutters, his head flopping back onto Derek's shoulder because fuck if he can hold it up on his own right now. He can't pay attention to _that_ head when the other one is knocking impatiently on his zipper.

"We can't," Derek groans, curling his fingers under until his short nails catch against the nubs of Stiles' nipples. "We have to wait."

Stiles opens his eyes—when did he shut them?—to see that darkness is beginning to settle in. "Oh, fuck yes," he breathes. "It's dusk." He thrusts his right arm out through the top of the quilt and starts chanting, "ScottScottScottScott," until Scott shows up, pops a claw, and delicately slices through his upper arm, all while wrinkling his nose.

"Close one, eh?" he mutters, winking at Stiles as Derek rolls his hips forward. "Aaaand, on that note, I'm going to… just… go. Pour blood on the nemeton or something. Have fun!"

"They don't need us, let's go, let's go." Stiles says, turning and pushing against Derek until he's actually moving in the direction of the Jeep.

Once they're inside, having walked stiff-legged the whole way, Stiles buckles his seat belt and turns to Derek, who is staring slack-jawed back at him. "Okay, so if it's a long story, don't feel the need to tell me, but I have to know. What's changed?"

"Huh?"

"Why now?" Stiles asks, gesturing from his lap to Derek's. "What changed?"

"You graduated."

Stiles takes a few seconds to process that before he nods his head and says, "Okay, that was six months ago, but I'll take it. Let's go find a bed."

"And you… you stayed. Here."

Something about that captures Stiles' attention as the Jeep thumps over ruts and hollows in the road. "Okay?"

"I thought you might, you know. Leave." Derek's hand slides across the space between them and settles on Stiles' right leg. "But you didn't. You stayed."

"Six months, dude." Stiles slides a glance his way as he puts on his turn signal. "I'm not forgetting the six months thing anytime soon."

Derek shrugs and turns to look out the window, the side of his face showing the blush that rises up his cheeks. "I wasn't sure if you really wanted me or just… wanted _someone_."

"Okay, yeah, I get it. Just so you know? You. It's always been you." Stiles tilts his head, and says, "Well, it's been you since I realized I'd rather have you pushing me up against walls than Lydia actually kissing me."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it was eye-opening."

Silence settles between them for a minute until Stiles stops at the light on Main and clears his throat. "And, uh, just so you know? I don't mind fighting with you. So you don't have to be so… nice all the time."

Derek deflates next to him and drags a shaky hand over his face. "Oh, thank God. I was trying, I really was, because my parents never fought and I thought maybe… but seriously, you have no idea. I really… uh, you know, _like_ you, but I don't always like you."

Stiles grins widely, hope bubbling up in his chest. "Does that mean you'll start pushing me into walls again?"

"Probably? I'm sorry, but—"

"Oh, Jesus, don't apologize. I _miss_ you pushing me into walls."

When he slides a glance sideways to see Derek sitting there, a small, hopeful smile stretching his lips, Stiles knows this is going to be a perfect relationship. For them.


End file.
